


An Embryonic Development

by Inactive Account (sassybleu)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, John knows what really happened on the rooftop, M/M, Parentlock, Post-Reichenbach, Reichenbach, Reunions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:37:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassybleu/pseuds/Inactive%20Account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new technology allows for scientists to create human life using only artificial eggs, and genetic material from a chosen male. From there they can pick and choose traits the offspring will have. Sherlock, the first one chosen to test the technology, happens to gain a daughter; the perfect version of the genius.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Embryonic Development

John knew. He knew and accepted that his friend would be gone for a while, with no contact for years. It made him ache at times, to know how Sherlock was risking himself for him. But what kept him going was the thought that every morning, he could say, “Maybe he’ll come home today.” And while the disappointment was reoccurring, every evening like the news, the thought that he got to say it again the next day kept him going.

\---

The elastic tied around his upper arm, the needles small prick of pain as it pierces the skin, the gentle resistance of the plunger in the syringe, the liquid transferring, now in his veins. The chemicals reacting, slowing down his mind; the constant chatter dulled down to a white noised blur. 78 days. He’s been using for 78 days. He’s been gone for 83. The drugs let him sleep with his regrets; not to say the nightmares don’t come, but at least this way he sleeps through them.

\---

 

259 days, he’s been gone. He’s been using for 254. Cocaine to slow him down; heroin to speed him up. Constantly riding the waves brought on in his chemical endeavor. 96 people. 96 people he’s killed to protect John, a million he’d kill if that’s what it took. Early morning sunrise, illuminating his balcony view. Elastic, prick, resistance, transference, high. His brain speeding to impossible rates, connections sewing together in cross-stitched patterns. 

\---

 

715 days, he’s been gone. 654 days he used. The king dead, wounds healed, mind normalized.  Mycroft called, some new experiment; Sherlock the first choice, all fascinating really. The embryo artificially made, grown in a lab, the only DNA given from the father; the first trial being him as the donor. They can pick specific traits and characteristics; won’t be legal for half a decade at least, if not more. Going through the list, eyes-yes, hair-yes, petite build-yes, intelligence-obviously, and so many more picked specifically. Rage left behind, along with his other short comings. They grow faster in the lab, 9 months reduced down to 3. 2 ½ years he’s been gone. He’s got a 3 month old daughter now. She’s brilliant, but of course she is, that’s why he was chosen. After her first month of life the testing was complete and she left with her father. 

\---

3 years. He’s got a 9 month old daughter now. Shoulder length hair, a dark brunette with wavy curls, sky-grey eyes, high cheekbones-prominent in her small stature. A female-infant-version of Sherlock. Her mind already at a 1 ½ year olds. He’s going home; he’s changed obviously. He understands now. Sentiment. Such a simple word that had yet to hold any positive meaning until he saw himself in another person. Until he was able to understand another person like he did himself. His sentiment was different, and obviously not obvious. But it was there. It was there in the smile he flashed her as she woke up. It was there as he played her to sleep with Bach, since Beethoven was only her second favorite. It was there as he told her of John, and how happy he’d be to meet her.

 

 

He packed up their motel room, their home of a few months. Sending Mycroft a message to send his things, he grabbed his daughter and her diaper bag, and caught the flight home.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I wrote when I was new to the fandom and writing fanfic. 
> 
>    
> 4/13/15: Please do not duplicate or post this content elsewhere without consent.


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